


You'll Remember This Again Someday

by Marina_15



Series: You'll Remember This Again Someday [1]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Eleanor Shellstrop, F/M, Michaeleanor, Set during "Best Self", Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-24 13:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marina_15/pseuds/Marina_15
Summary: Eleanor and Chidi are soulmates.Eleanor and Michael are something else.





	You'll Remember This Again Someday

Michael tells all of them to get a good night's sleep because there's no such thing as sleep in the Bad Place, let alone a good night's one.

Eleanor follows Chidi to the clown house, still grasping a bottle of Pinot Noir. Her head buzzes pleasantly. She chances a glance back at their little drunken picnic set-up. Michael has moved to in front of the frozen yogurt shop now, and is staring into the sky. She follows his gaze upward, her vision wine-blurred. Eleanor is no astronomer, but as a child she spent plenty of time wishing upon the stars ("Please,  _please_ , let me be adopted"), and she's pretty sure these constellations are nothing like the ones from home.

Eleanor wonders how high the sky goes here.

 

When they reach the clown house, Chidi moves toward the guest bedroom and stops with one hand on the door.

"Goodnight, Eleanor." He waves at her, a small, awkward movement. "Don't stay up too late."

Eleanor squints against the brightness of the kitchen lights and plunks the wine bottle on the counter. "Hey, wait, garbage disposal brain."

Chidi turns around and looks at her like she's threatened to burn his books. "Excuse me?"

Eleanor grimaces. "Sorry, I meant that to sound better than it came out. I like your brain. It's good. With or without a fork in it."

"Uh... thank you." A smile flits across his face.

"Chidi," Eleanor says, putting her hands on her hips and trying to sound confident. It's the voice she used all the time when she wanted to get laid on Earth. It feels wrong using it on Chidi, so she softens. "Chidi, since this is our last night in the fake Good Place... I just wondered if you wanted to sleep together."

Chidi's eyes widen.

"Not sex," she adds hurriedly. "I just mean it literally. Did I use 'literally' right?"

Chidi takes her hands in his. Eleanor's heart swoops.

"Dude, you've got soft hands," she blurts.

"Oh. Thank you. I was never really into sports or anything."

Eleanor grins. "You don't say."

"Anyway, Eleanor," Chidi says, "I hope you know that you're one of the closest friends I have ever had. Scratch that,  _the_  closest friend. And you did use the word 'literally' correctly, which, I'll admit, is attractive. But-"

There's always a "but" with Chidi. The fork in the garbage disposal, the endless  _what if, what if, what if…_

Eleanor yanks her hands from his. She thinks the alcohol might be getting to her, because her stomach is clenching nauseatingly.

"No, it's okay, bud. It's really okay. I get it." She hears the emotion in her voice and winces.

Chidi is looking at her with an expression close to pity. "Eleanor, I-"

"You should get some sleep," she interrupts, perhaps too loudly, and offers Chidi a toothy smile. "We've got a big day ahead of us."

She pats Chidi on the arm and keeps smiling. He hesitates for a long moment before nodding. "All right. Goodnight, Eleanor."

Chidi heads into his room, shutting the door behind him. Eleanor stands in the middle of the living room, half expecting him to come back, but the hands on the insane clown clock in the bedroom continue to tick, and Chidi's door remains closed.

 

When Eleanor returns to the town square, Michael is still sitting in front of the yogurt shop.

"Hey there, pal," she says brightly. She’s peppy Eleanor now, carefree Eleanor, don’t-give-a-shirt-Eleanor. Or trying to be.

"Eleanor! I thought you went to bed."

Michael is beaming at her with that smile that's somewhere in between dopey architect and conniving mastermind, the one that seems reserved for the times they are alone. Eleanor has been noticing it more and more lately. She will let herself admit that Michael seems more attached to her than the other humans, although she wonders if it's really a compliment that a demon finds her so relatable.

Eleanor plops down on the bench beside him. Michael pivots toward her like a magnet. One of his long legs is crossed over the other, and his shoe ends up in her lap.

"Hey... What happened?" Michael asks as Eleanor pushes his foot away.

Trust someone in a human suit to see through her facade.

Eleanor shrugs loosely, the smile falling from her face. "I don't know, man." She tilts her head up and closes her eyes, letting the warm air tousle her hair. She can still feel Chidi's hands on hers.

When Eleanor opens her eyes again, Michael is peering at her intently, probably trying to read her in nine dimensions or whatever the fork he can do.

"Okay, then."

Michael's tone is too knowing. Eleanor can't help but scowl petulantly, like she has been caught shoplifting from the Circle K again. "Why do you think something happened? Can't I just stop by to hang out?"

He snorts, which she ignores.

"So, why aren't you asleep?" she asks after a moment. "Don't you have to take care of that body you're renting?"

"That's not really how it works," Michael replies. "You see, when you choose a body-"

"Never mind, never mind," Eleanor says. "Spare me the details. I can already tell they're super gross."

Michael shrugs, and his eyes drift back upward. They both spend a few moments in silence, looking into the sky.

"Did you make all these constellations, Michael?"

Michael nods, looking pleased with himself. "Of course. Outside of what people request from Janet, everything here is my creation, down to the last blade of grass. The others never appreciated it. Not enough fire and brimstone. Or reality TV.”

"Well, it's beautiful. When I grew up and moved to the city, I could never really see this kind of stuff. Light pollution, you know." Not that she ever looked once she was legally emancipated. "Anyway, you really outdid yourself. If you ask me, the Bad Place is wasting your talents. It's like... It's like giving Beyonce a flamethrower instead of a microphone."

"Is that some kind of human compliment?" Michael asks. "Not that I'm not flattered. Beyonce is, impartially speaking, 104 percent perfect."

"Of course it's a compliment, dumb-ash. Dumb- _ash_. Aw, man. I was hoping they would have turned off the swear filter for the party."

"I can turn it off, if you'd like," Michael says, slightly mournfully. "It was for you, anyway."

Eleanor shakes her head. "You know what? Leave it. It wouldn't be the fake Good Place without a filter." Eleanor plants her feet on the bench and hugs her knees to her chest. "Hey, Michael. I've got a fun question for you."

Michael cocks an eyebrow.

"What was the funniest thing you did to Tahani during all of the reboots? I'm not talking, like, legit torture, but you know. The little things."

"Isn't it bad ethics to brag about torturing humans?" Michael asks. He is definitely trying to hide a smile.

Eleanor nudges him. "It's just us, man. I know you want to. Plus, I think it's okay, ethically speaking, because Tahani is our friend now."

"Well, if Eleanor says it's _okay_..." Michael pauses for a moment, thinking, then giggles menacingly. It's the laugh of serial killers, torturers, people who remove their socks on public airplanes. If Eleanor didn't know him as well as she did, she'd be shirting herself. "Oh, there are so many. Do you really want to hear them?"

"Come on, Michael." She leans in conspiratorially. "Spill."

Michael steeples his fingers. "Although I hardly think it's my best work, probably the biggest reaction out of Tahani was when I outlawed dresses." 

"Like a nudist colony? With Tahani?" Eleanor whistles. "I could get into _that_."

"Try hooded robes."

"Oh. Less sexy. Okay, what else?"

"In Number 458, Tahani and Jason lived next to a very sweet couple who just  _happened_  to have been fans of Tahani's sister, Kamilah. They insisted Tahani play her music at every party."

Eleanor grins. "Oh, Tahani, you poor, beautiful bench."

 

They entertain themselves with reboot stories for half an hour. By the end of it, they're both cracking up, breathless. They're talking about torture, torture that included Eleanor, but gosh dang does it feel good to laugh. Eleanor has sprawled herself out on the bench, and Michael's arm is warm against her back.

"In, let's see, I think it was 255,  _everyone_  took a vow of silence. The look on Tahani's face!"

Eleanor is laughing so hard she's nearly choking, and her face feels hot in spite of the temperate air. She comes down from her hysterical high with a head rush. Michael is wiping his eyes under his glasses.

"Oh, shirt. Thanks for that," Eleanor murmurs, leaning back.

“I thought you’d appreciate that one."

Michael is smiling at her fondly, but memories of the roast rush back to her-

_...and then the other one... is me!_

-and strangely, words she doesn't think she's ever heard Michael say-

_You sneaky little so-and-so._

Eleanor laughs sharply. “Oh, right. Because I'm a heartless, manipulative demon who likes to make people miserable. Or is that you? I forget sometimes."

Of course, Michael sees right through her casual sarcasm. "You know I had to say all that so Shawn wouldn't suspect anything."

Eleanor knows she sounds childish, but she can't stop from muttering, "It was still pretty harsh."

They fall silent for a moment except for the sound of Michael’s foot tapping against the ground. Eleanor is feeling sober again, and part of her hates it. 

"I think I’m a bad person, Michael," she blurts. "Like, something in my core is rotten, no matter how much I learn about ethics. I've been working my ash off to be good this round, but Chidi isn't seeing it. Doesn't that say something, if even Chidi can't see the good in me? I mean, what’s so different between this round and the other one?”

"I assume you mean the time you and Chidi..." Michael waves his arm, then makes a face like he's smelled rancid milk. "You know what the balloon said. Right now, you're the best Eleanor that you can be."

Eleanor scoffs. "Are you still going on about your bullshirt balloon? All right, forget it. You're no help." 

Michael lifts his arm from around her shoulders and peers down at her over the bridge of his glasses. Eleanor's eyes flick to his hands in his lap, then back to his face.

“Did I ever tell you how version one ended?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so." Eleanor shrugs. "I figured you out, then you did your snappy thing, blah, blah, blah. Same old, same old.”

“Well, that’s all true, but I don’t think I ever mentioned what led up to the end,” Michael says. He turns so he’s closer to her, his knees against her hip. “You, Eleanor Shellstrop, sacrificed yourself to save my life.”

A chill runs down her back. " _I_ saved _your_ life?"

"Well, you royally forked up my plans, if we're being honest," Michael says. "But I'll give credit where it's due. You admitted that you didn’t belong in the Good Place in order to save me from retirement. Now, I know that was a different version, but it taught me something about you."

"And that is?"

"That I underestimated you. I think that, deep down, you have the potential to be good. In _any_ version. All you need is a push."

"A push. Huh." Eleanor looks down at her hands. "I don't know if you're right, but thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy. And just so you know, you're trying really hard, too.” A thought strikes her. “Hey, Michael... What happens if we get in and you don't? Will you get, you know..." She points to the ground and makes a sad trombone sound. " _Womp womp_."

"Are you worried about me?"

Michael sounds genuinely touched, and Eleanor groans internally. She recognizes that voice from a long string of (human) friends and lovers, and it's usually followed by clinginess and suffocating affection.

"Ugh, don't make it sound all sappy like that. And,  _no_ , I'm not worried. If you made the stars, you can probably handle anything." She hesitates, looking away. "But just say that it does happen. What would you do?"

"Don't worry about me." He smiles. "I always figure something out."

That's a lie. Eleanor has kept Michael from figuring things out for the past eight hundred plus rounds. But maybe, if they're working together...

“All right, all right." Eleanor pokes him in the side. "Anyway, if they let  _me_  in, then you ought to be a shoe-in."

One of Michael's arms returns to rest on the back of the bench. Eleanor leans into it, and feels his fingers close almost imperceptibly around her shoulder. She shivers.

Michael frowns. "Are you cold? I'm sure I set the temperature to precisely seventy degrees Fahrenheit. Human bodies are so sensitive. Just the tiniest changes and-” he gestures wildly with his free hand, “ _poof_ you go.”

The buzzing in Eleanor's head returns, but it's not the wine this time. The words tumble out of her in a rush:

"Do you want to fork?"

Michael's realization of what Eleanor has said is slow. She watches it happen in fractions. The corners of his mouth crease. His eyes, already locked on hers, widen slowly behind his glasses. The hand on Eleanor's shoulder suddenly, involuntary tightens, then releases as if she's made of fire, or whatever burns a demon. Michael pulls away from her.

"Eleanor." She can't tell if it's derision or suspicion in his voice. "Do you know what you're asking?"

Eleanor nods.

"Do you know  _whom_  you're asking?"

"I do," she says, and she means it. She knows Michael. She knows him like she knows the million dark urges that swirl through her mind unsuppressed when she is just about to fall asleep. The urge to be a bad person. To hurt, to cheat, to lie. And the newer, overwhelming, contradictory urge to destroy these urges: a self-destruction, for what is Eleanor without her bad parts?

Eleanor presses forward. "You didn't answer my question. Do you wanna fork? Do you guys even do that? Is it gross to you, like kissing? We don't have to kiss."

"I don't... understand why you would ask _me_ in the first place.” Michael's eyes are darting around, refusing to settle on her own. The tips of his ears have reddened, and in a way, it's endearing.

"Okay, well, let me tell you something I've never told Chidi," Eleanor says, sliding her legs off the bench. "Sometimes, after our ethics lessons, I just want to roll up in a ball and cry because... well, I don't know why. It's either that or I want to do something _terrible_ , like set the clown house on fire. Just to blow off steam, maybe. I know it sounds crazy, but it's all so forking exhausting, learning how to be good."

"What does that have to do with..." Michael gestures vaguely and trails off.

Eleanor kicks the cobblestones with a sneaker. "Because I feel like you know exactly what I mean. Tell me you haven't had days where you just felt like hiding in bed or tearing this place to the ground?"

Michael frowns at his shoes, looking stunned. His silence is enough of a response.

"Yeah, exactly. And you've actually followed through on the second one, kind of. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that you were right in the roast. We're a lot alike, dude. Maybe we both need to just be with someone who gets it, for once." She snorts. "And I'll tell you what, it has been  _way_ too long, if you know what I mean. So there's that."

"I thought you loved Chidi." The word  _loved_  comes out of him with such vehemence that, for a wild moment, Eleanor is confused why the swear filter doesn't pick it up.

Eleanor winces. "This has nothing to do with Chidi. I'm capable of making my own decisions." She puffs out a breath of air. "Anyway, I told him how I felt, and he doesn't feel the same way. When that kind of stuff happens, you gotta get over it like an adult. I'm trying to do that."

A rebound. Just like she told Janet to do, and both Eleanor and Michael know how that turned out.

Except it's not just a rebound, and Eleanor suspects that Michael knows this. As disturbing as it is, what Eleanor told him is true. They  _are_ a lot alike. And Eleanor knows that if she were sitting here with Jason, or Janet, or some other random person in or out of the fake Good Place (perhaps with the exception of Tahani), she would not be doing this.

"So, uh, what do you say?" she asks weakly.

Michael doesn't meet her eyes. Eleanor swallows the lump in her throat. Rejected again. Twice in one hour. Ouch. And propositioning a demon probably isn't doing her any favors on the good point counter, so tonight is turning into a real shirt-show.

Eleanor stands up, brushes off her jeans. "Right, well, this is embarrassing. I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Hey, buddy, want to do a little memory wipe for old time's sa-"

Michael may be wearing a human body, but the speed at which he is on his feet is so utterly nonhuman it takes Eleanor's breath away, as does his mouth, which is suddenly pressing into hers. She gasps onto his lips. He is so much taller, she has to stand on her toes to reach him, grasping his lapels in her fists.

"Holy fork!" she pants when he releases her. "I mean, holy  _fork_ , Michael. What happened to 'gross food holes?'"

He is out of breath too, and looks away.

Eleanor’s stomach drops. Is that what regret looks like in a demon?

“Hey, Michael... you don’t have to do this," she says. "I had this friend, Amy, and she just wasn’t into sex, or kissing, or anything like that. And if that’s your deal, you shouldn’t-”

“I want to,” he interrupts. "You just have to understand, Eleanor, that I've never- that beings like me don't typically-" He grasps for words, clearly frustrated. “I don’t understand all of these human _feelings_. They’re so… so pesky. When I saw you and Chidi together…”

“Oh... Oh! Are you saying you might have been a little bit jealous?” Eleanor can’t help but smile. "And that maybe... this hottie's still got it?"

Something dark gleams in Michael's eyes and Eleanor's smile slips.

"I think the question is, are _you_ sure about this, Eleanor?" he asks evenly, stepping closer to run a thumb over her cheekbone. Eleanor shivers.

"Please, Michael?" she says softly. "Cause I'm gonna be thinking about that kiss for a long time, either way."

Michael exhales, then responds by kissing her again. This time it is slow, careful. His hands travel to her waist, and squeeze when she makes a needy sound against his lips. Eleanor has never been kissed like this, at least not that she can remember. Michael is sweet and soft, but something is ever so slightly _off_ about it all. She thinks it’s because he’s not human. She finds that she doesn’t care.

After a few minutes, Eleanor backs them into one of the cafe tables. She sits atop it and drags Michael closer, running her fingertips over his face. She slides his glasses off and sets them on the table next to her, then wraps her legs around his waist. Michael grunts in surprise. His eyes are wide and bright, and on his face there is an expression halfway between excitement and nervousness. Confusion, maybe, although Eleanor suspects that if Michael has looked over the contents of her  _entire_  life on one of those magical TVs, he can't be too unfamiliar with the general concept of sex.

A sudden, sick thought enters Eleanor's mind, and she whispers, "Promise me right now that we've never done this in any of the other versions."

"No. Never. Not with anyone," he says. "Not that you didn't try."

"Oh, good- Wait, what?"

Michael tries to look smug, but in his disheveled state he fails. "There were a handful of times you tried. I always said no."

Eleanor feels a blush creep across her cheeks. The worst part is she's not necessarily surprised. When she was alive, she tried to fork her landlord a few times just for the hell of it, and Michael is kind of like the ultimate landlord. Not a mailman, but you can't get everything you want.

"Well," Eleanor says. "Here's to the first time, then."

Still clothed, she presses up against him firmly, earning another grunt from Michael. She pulls away a moment later and begins struggling with her pants zipper.

"These stupid pants always get stuck," she mutters, then looks up. "Hey, wait a minute. Was this part of the torture, Michael? My stupid broken zipper?"

Michael grits his teeth. "It's certainly part of the torture right now."

Her heart skips a beat. "Wow, buddy, just give me a second." She finally slides her pants down to her feet, then shakes them to the ground. Her underwear follows, then she shrugs off her shirt and bra.

"Well?"

Michael stares, and she lets him. She sits down on the table and stares right back. Eleanor has never been particularly modest, but it has been such a long time, and she is so wound up, that just his gaze makes goosebumps erupt down her arms and legs.

After a minute of solid staring, Eleanor takes Michael's hand and pulls him closer, helps him slide off his suit jacket. She loosens his bow tie, then pulls on his belt, looking back up to make sure he's okay. His eyes snap up to meet hers, and he nods slightly. While she winds his belt through its loops, he finally gathers the courage to touch her, running a hand down the length of her body. Eleanor inclines against the wooden table, hoping it won't give her splinters.

"Oh, fork," she hisses when he reaches between her legs. Michael’s breath catches. Eleanor is shaking so badly she barely manages to yank Michael's pants down.

"So, just for future reference... I mean, if you ever do this with any more humans, um... normally you have to do a bit of foreplay, but holy shirt, if we don't do this now I might scream." She pauses. "As long as you're still okay with it?"

Michael's hands are suddenly on either side of her. "I think I've wanted to do this for a very long time."

Well. This is news, but Eleanor can't give much of a fork about that right now. "Then do it."

It is a challenge, the culmination of this stupid, near-endless cat and mouse (or is it cat and cat?) game they have played to exhaustion. Michael's eyes flicker darkly again, and Eleanor nods encouragingly.

"Oh, Eleanor," he says when he pushes into her. A blessing and a curse.

Eleanor locks her feet together against the small of his back, drawing him further in.

"You doing okay?" she asks, and it comes out as a strained whisper.

He nods fervently and splays his hands over her hips.

If Eleanor wanted to be honest with herself (a rarity), she would admit that she, too, has wanted to do this for a long time (and apparently has tried to at some point). What she feels for Michael is nothing like what she feels for Chidi, but there is something in her and Michael's shared gaze that is like a recognition. It is like kneeling in front of a row of careening shopping carts and knowing she is meant to be there.

Eleanor does most of the work at first, although it's difficult when lying on a cafe table. She doesn't mind, though. It's worth it to watch the flickers of expression on Michael's face. Michael figures it out soon enough, and begins moving within her with one hand threaded through her hair, and the other underneath her tailbone. Michael’s eyes are heavy lidded, but when he picks up the pace Eleanor cannot help but moan, and the sound makes his eyes snap open to lock onto hers.

After a thrust, Michael leans down, his whisper warm in her ear. “I would do anything you ever asked me to. Almost everything in this place has been for you, Eleanor.”

“W-what?” She shudders, clenching around him.

“I mean it. Every... every torture, every opposite torture-"

"Gifts," she gasps.

"Every gift. All for you."

"But... the others?"

"It's different with the others."

“Oh, _fork."_ She wants to say more, but words fail to come, and Michael has pressed his lips to hers again. 

Michael quickens, and she grabs on to the sides of his arms, her body tensing. She knows neither of them are going to last long, which would normally be sort of embarrassing, but this time it doesn't matter. Eleanor is sure, in this moment, that she has never felt so at home. Not in this round or any of the others. Not during life or after it.

She comes almost violently, fingertips pressing hard into Michael's shoulders. "Michael!"

Sparkles eat at the corners of her vision; she squeezes her eyes shut. After a long moment in darkness, Eleanor opens her eyes, breathes raggedly. She feels like she has blacked out, but vaguely remembers Michael hissing her name and following her into the void.

They do not move aside from the heaving of their chests. Michael is looming over her, hair mussed, bow tie hanging loosely off his throat. He watches her now with an indecipherable expression. Eleanor's feet are still crossed over his back.

On Earth, Eleanor normally liked to end sex casually. Throw out a lighthearted quip, make a joke, send the guy or gal on their way and head to the kitchen for a snack. All she does now is meet Michael's gaze with her own. She has no words nor jokes to end this. A tear wells up in the corner of her eye, trickles down her cheek. Michael’s hand moves as if to wipe it away, but ends up hovering over her face. Eleanor, frozen, does not register the sound of someone calling her name.

"Eleanor?" The voice is coming closer, from a few yards away. "Elean- holy shirt!"

The world rushes back, and Eleanor yelps. "Oh, fork, Chidi!"

Chidi spins around, covering his eyes dramatically with his hands. "You weren't home and I got worried. I, oh no... I- I'm going back to the house." Chidi stumbles over the picnic basket but still refuses to look their way.

Once Chidi's footsteps have disappeared, Michael finally withdraws, and a small voice in Eleanor’s mind pleads, _no, don’t leave me_. Eleanor's legs fall, her body bent awkwardly over the table without Michael's support. She sits up, bottom bare on the wood. Her limbs feel like jelly.

"Well, _that_ probably gave him a stomachache," Michael says, fastening his pants.

Eleanor smooths her hair, wipes her face. “I can’t believe he saw that. This is bad.”

Michael eyes her carefully. “Is it?”

“Of course it is. Chidi just saw us banging it out in front of a frozen yogurt shop.” Eleanor stands up shakily, then collapses into a chair. She feels warmth running down her thigh and is gripped with the sudden urge to do it all again. "What the heck are we gonna do?"

Michael, hesitantly, tries to touch her, but Eleanor swats him away. “Hold on. I need to think.” She pretends not to notice his expression, which indeed is both angry and confused, but there is something else in his face that Eleanor does not want to acknowledge.

"You could go talk to him," Michael offers. "Isn't that what humans do, talk to each other?"

Eleanr laughs weakly and buries her face in her hands. "Maybe some humans."

Shirt, shirt,  _shirt_. Everything felt so perfect for a moment, and now she is Eleanor Shellstrop again, human trash fire. A human trash fire who just forked the demon who tortured her for eight hundred rounds of so-called heaven. In front of her supposed  _soulmate_.

"I'm sorry, Eleanor." Michael lifts his hands, palms forward. “I-I don’t know what you want from me.”

"Well, of course you don't have any advice," Eleanor mutters into her arms. "Whenever  _you_ had a problem, you just rebooted-" Her head snaps up.

"What?"

"That's it. You can erase Chidi's memory. Just of the past hour."

Michael gapes at her. "You're kidding. Eleanor, I'm no philosophy professor, but I don't think that erasing Chidi's mind is, well, ethical."

Eleanor shakes her head. "But we'll be doing it to increase his happiness, right? Trust me, Michael, he'll be much happier if he never saw this happen."

"I could have said the same about you during all the reboots."

Eleanor swallows thickly. "Maybe that was for the best, too. I mean, don't get me wrong, living in the fake Good Place with Team Cockroach has been great, actually, but being aware of all of those reboots the whole time, over and over again? That would have been-"

"Torture," Michael finishes.

"Exactly." Eleanor stands up. "Michael, I want you to erase Chidi's memory. And..." She avoids his eyes. "I want you to erase mine, too. Make it like I went to bed as soon as I went home." Eleanor sniffs. "It's... It'll be better this way. Trust me. Fresh start for the morning, you know?"

Michael sits down heavily on one of the cafe chairs, running his hand through his hair. "Was it that... unsatisfactory?"

Oh, shirt. "No, Michael, that's not what I meant. You don't understand. There's no way I can get into the Good Place with these memories in my head." Eleanor closes the distance between them and rests her hands on the arms of his chair.

Michael looks up at her, mouth slightly parted. "You're right. I _don't_ understand. If you're worried about Chidi being angry at you-"

"Chidi would never be angry about what I choose to do on my own."

"Then why erase his memory?"

"I don't know." Eleanor realizes she's still completely naked and crosses her arms over her breasts. "Michael, you said you'd do anything I asked, right?"

Michael scowls, like this time he is the one who has been caught shoplifting.

"You did," Eleanor insists. "Please, Michael. I know you can do it. And this time, it's okay because I'm saying it is."

"And Chidi?"

"It's not going to hurt him. Like I said, he'll be happier."

Michael looks like he wants to say something horrid, to snap away the swear filter and curse her out. To open up a hole in the ground beneath her and let her be sucked into the void.

Instead, he stands up and says, "Fine."

"Thank you, Michael, I-"

"Get dressed and I'll have Janet return you to your bed," he says curtly.

Eleanor nods and gathers up her clothes. She dresses quickly, because she knows if she hesitates, she'll start to question what the fork she's doing and, even worse, _why_ she's doing it.

"Okay. I'm ready."

She stands up straight. She is trembling for some reason. Michael approaches her, expressionless, and the trembling gets worse until he wraps her in his arms, holding her tight against him. Eleanor lets out a surprised sound, then sighs and relaxes against his chest.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Don't thank me. Not for this."

She feels Michael lift his arm and she squeezes her eyes shut, hanging onto him like a life raft.

"Eleanor, you should know that-"

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
